


“Unable to perceive the shape of you, I find you all around me”

by pauliemeatballs



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 15:37:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20584889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pauliemeatballs/pseuds/pauliemeatballs
Summary: A story detailing the romance between Rein and Sig; how Sig came to Overwatch, how he and Rein became friends, how they eventually fell in love, and their perspectives on their own feelings. Rated mature for allusions to sex a couple of times, but no explicitly written scenes.





	“Unable to perceive the shape of you, I find you all around me”

**Author's Note:**

> -I retconned white mercy lol  
-I do not know german or dutch so I used a translator bear with me

Reinhardt’s ears perked up when he heard Siebren yawn for a third time in what seemed like the span of 10 minutes or so, and he instinctively lifted his gaze from whatever fitness magazine he’d brought along as a respectful distraction to note his posture, and see if that was enough of an excuse to go up and take him from his studies for at least a minute. Siebren always buried himself in what could only be to Reinhardt mathematical hieroglyphics for reasons unknown to him. He figured Siebren would have had his fill of astrophysics after everything that's happened, but he remained resilient, often waking himself up at the crack of dawn because the answer to an equation floated by in his dreams and he had to catch it before it wisped away. To what these equations were building up to, Reinhardt couldn’t say. Even if Siebren were just churning out calculations for the fun of it, Reinhardt couldn’t bring himself to understand even remedial algebra without a referential guide on hand. He’d always fancied himself more of a historian, anyway, and was more likely to find himself in the fantasy section of libraries to take a load off and escape. Reinhardt imagined a college-aged Siebren slumped over on a table, dead-asleep after a vigorous study section, surrounded by a moat of empty coffee cups, once filled with over-sweetened black tea, and a garden of white and pink and blue sugar packets, crystals scattered here and there from feverish tearing in an attempt to retain and strain any last bits of energy for the long haul. He smiled.

Even if he couldn’t comprehend the meat of Siebren’s passions, it didn’t mean he disagreed with them. He lived for the moments when Siebren realized the quotient or sum of something and he flew through the air towards his beloved gargantuan whiteboard with a triumphant “a-HA!”, or when he had to physically restrain himself from jumping high enough to hit his head on the ceiling, or when he went to grab Rein by the shoulders with a wide-eyed, joyous gaze as if he decoded an ancient language he’d been working so hard on, an exhilarated smile painted on his face in place of words he couldn’t express. Reinhardt wished he could speak the language, or at least understand it enough to follow along with Siebren’s passionate impromptu lectures, feeling he was making the other man experience more isolation than he needed from the lack of kinship they shared with the subject. He dreaded making Siebren feel any kind of isolation at all, and the idea was usually caged in his mind as an over-analysis, but his failure to engage with Siebren’s words always made his heart twinge with an acute, albeit irrational, sour note of betrayal. He set the magazine aside and rose towards him to keep it shackled. 

“You’ve been up since six,” he remarked gently, his head meeting with Siebren’s shoulder blades as the physicist levitated several feet above the ground, criss-crossed and seated upright on nothing with the same kind of focus that came to Rein in his reverie; pulled taut and about to fray any second. He instinctively placed a large palm on Siebren’s back, and immediately felt him soften. Another smaller yawn.

“I know, I’m...I feel like I’m going in a loop,” he illustrated with his hand. “I’ve been doing and redoing these numbers and I, um--I don’t know, I feel like I need to look at it from another angle...”

Reinhardt slipped his hands under Siebren’s arms & began to slowly tug him down. “Yes. The angle of you with your head on a pillow, and going to sleep.” Siebren gave a groggy, non-combative grunt but still tried to resist the blissful call of a cool pillow & comforters in favor of a brain that throbbed painfully like a torn muscle. His resistance lacked in his favor & he soon found his legs unfolding out from under him, the iciness of the floor making him cringe as Reinhardt turned him so they were face to face.

“Wake up, _ liebe _.”

“I thought I was going to bed,” Siebren slurred with his eyes closed.

“Yes, and you need to get there first.” Reinhardt cupped Siebren’s face in his hands, for no other reason than to look at him, and feel him, and enjoy his silliness.

“You’re making me feel as if I’m drunk,” Siebren retorted as much as an exhausted man could retort, peering through his barely opened eyes, his lips curling upward in a barely noticeable smirk. Rein felt a stir in his belly as he brought them forward for a deep kiss, breathing in his partner’s smell.

“And I shall be the dog that bit you,” He rumbled with a grin.

“That’s not even how the saying goes. You--,” Reinhardt gathered Siebren up into his arms in one swoop before the last of the man’s brain leaked through his ears trying to come up with a clever remark. “...don’t even know English…,” he mumbled. A prickle at the back of his neck attuned him to the smile in Siebren’s voice, the kind of sixth sense only lovers experience. Reinhardt loved pondering over these things, wondering if he knew Siebren in another life to feel this connected to him. His heart beat in such a way that would have made him sick with passion once, a sugar high from the tenderness he felt right down to his bones, but now he felt pleasantly accustomed to it, more like a complex but delicious flavor profile. The sickness of love was never something one numbed to over time like the effects of a drug, but continued to inflame your senses and make you feel perpetually, contentedly (_ rapturously _) full.

And yet despite this Rein knew Siebren would not be in the mood to lie with him, as dry as his mouth became at the anticipation of his taste pooling through it. It didn’t matter. Any opportunity to be near him or touch him in some capacity satisfied Rein, and even if he wasn’t tired he would lay next to him, and hold him, and detach from everything else that tethered him to the world. It especially helped that the dorms of Overwatch Headquarters were equipped with virtually customizable screened walls that could take on the appearance of any natural environment desired; Hana loved a hot spring, Baptiste loved a sunny beach, and Siebren loved space. Always space. Reinhardt couldn’t recall a time when he figured he might want a change, the very first time he walked into Siebren’s room being an uncomfortable sudden dance with vertigo that would have ended with him on the floor if it weren’t for the borders of each wall giving some semblance of a four-dimensional space, even if it did eerily resemble a simple cube floating around in the cosmos. Since then, Siebren had been content to reduce it down to the main window alone.

Rein remembered how different Siebren looked; deathly skinny, a far cry from the borderline skeletal state in which the squad found him but still indicative of the fact that the man had not been sustained on solid food for months. His skull, hands, and feet looked abnormally large in comparison to the rest of his body, his eyes appearing to bulge even when he wasn't trying, and his cheeks sunken in as if he’d been deflated like a balloon. His hair, grown out wildly from psychic strain, lay limp and brittle around his shoulders, which jutted out under his skin like dull blades. Reinhardt could admit when he turned around to face him in the dark that time, even though he’d been watching him and talking to him for all those months, and had seen him when he’d finally woken up, that the sight of the man terrified him. Not because he was inherently frightening, but because his condition suggested the nightmare from which he’d escaped. That the escape suggested recovery, but also the agony of that recovery, and he knew from that moment on he wouldn’t let him continue alone.

Reinhardt peered down at Siebren, long arms hooked around his neck, still barely lingering in the world of the alert with heavy-lidded, unfocused eyes, but with a pleased expression at the feeling of being in Rein’s arms. He nudged the door to Siebren’s room open with his foot, warm early noon light pouring through the wall-window on the opposite end of the room, giving him a clear, open view of the watchpoint overlooking the sea. Rein knew it didn’t interest him, though, and if he were to be honest Siebren’s pseudo-spaceship room had become quite comforting to him over time, even if he did have to tell him to tone down the spinning effect lest he succumb to motion sickness. He laid him down gently, walking around the bed to reach for the custom screen’s remote before catching himself slowed in a little pocket of eternity, gazing at Siebren bathed in golden light and draped across his covers with completely effortless grace. He gave Rein a thankful little smile and extended his arms towards him, beckoning for his touch. Reinhardt obliged with a grin & crawled towards him to lie at his side, pulling him back in to continue their kiss from earlier. Siebren cupped his face this time and deepened their kiss, not being able to resist smiling into it, and making Rein smile in return. Despite his exhaustion, Siebren felt a thrum of excitement in his lower belly as the two nuzzled each other softly, and he caught Reinhardt’s lips in another kiss, gently biting the bottom as they parted. He followed up with two, three smaller, hungrier kisses, before realizing his inability to follow through, and laughing softly at his own boldness.

“I, um...I won’t be able to--,” he paused, another bashful laugh escaping him. 

“I don’t expect you to.” he replied, stroking Siebren’s cheek.

“Later, definitely later, when I have the energy. Promise?”

Rein let out his own soft chuckle, as if he could ever possibly say no. “Hmm...well, I don’t know...I’ll be pretty busy later with...things…” He scratched his head, feigning disinterest. “You might have missed your chance...hmm...a shame, really...”

Siebren laughed out loud, a smile on his face crinkling the bridge of his nose adorably and making him look years younger. “All right then, so it's a date,” he said while wriggling the remote out of Reinhardt’s grip. The wall shifted to an opaque white that swallowed enough of the light for a moment to look a creamy beige, before shifting to a cool blue that deepened to almost black, lighting up with glitter flecks of stars until it became real, intangible outer space. Siebren watched the process from over Reinhardt’s broad shoulder. It never got old. Little things in the world that reminded him magic existed on some level. He let the remote hover out of his hand to the night-table next to Rein, catching the larger man’s gaze on him when it settled & feeling the warmth of the stars bloom in him too. He raised his eyebrows as if to ask him “what are you thinking about?”, and Reinhardt traced the bridge of Siebren’s long nose down to the tip, knowing how it made him blush. Siebren tapped his lips, asking for one last kiss before he let sleep claim him, and Reinhardt obliged.

* * *

_ “What are these?” _

_ “Protein bars. They’re my favorite. I don’t know if you have any allergies, though. This brand tends to be free of most of them.” _

_ Siebren looked at the three bars Reinhardt had lain out for him on his bed. They were sizable, almost the length of his hand, and the wrappers pleasantly colorful; one teal, one brown, and one a sugary red. His hollow stomach groaned embarrassingly loud, and he winced. Despite only regaining consciousness a mere week ago, his sense of shame remained uncomfortably acute over the functions he actually needed, namely speech, coordination, and the ability to trust. He found himself slurring words and stuttering horribly, also inflaming the ever-useful self hatred. He almost wished someone would bludgeon him over the head and put him back into purgatory out of mercy. Reinhardt looked strong enough to do it with his own hands, but Siebren knew he wouldn’t. According to Dr. Ziegler, Reinhardt staunchly remained by his side, only volunteering a few days after he was rescued to try talking in German to stimulate Siebren’s brain a bit ( _ “I know it's not the same, Angelo, but many people from The Netherlands can understand our diction! The languages are so similar!” _ ), and then finding himself attached at the hip. Siebren had ghostly memories of Reinhardt speaking to him as if he were able to respond. The depth of the subjects often escaped him when he tried thinking back further, but he knew Reinhardt loved watching and discussing movies. Music that felt vaguely nostalgic rang in Siebren’s head. Maybe it was from the movies themselves or from Reinhardt simply playing something off a holopad. All he knew was that when he woke and saw Reinhardt, he felt as if he were meeting a long-distance friend for the first time. _

_ “They’re mint chocolate, espresso, and berry flavor. You can have a bite of all three and see which one you like. I usually eat two at a time, anyway, so they won’t go to waste, don’t worry.” _

_ Reinhardt watched Siebren scan the wrappers, his eyes appearing abnormally large in their pronounced sockets, the eyes of someone who desperately clung to consciousness like a dehydrated man having liquids held just out of his reach. He settled on the espresso flavor first, gingerly removing a corner of the wrapper and taking his first bite of solid food in over eight months. His expression said it all. _

_ “I’m afraid I’m not a coffee person. It tastes...very good, believe me. But I don’t think I can eat the whole thing. It might, um...the--uh....” Siebren made a drinking motion and flexed his free hand near his head, almost mimicking an explosion. _

_ “The caffeine?” _

_ “Yes! Yes, yes, thank you. It, uh, it might make me jittery.” _

_ “That’s no problem. Try the next one.” _

_ Siebren unwrapped and bit into the mint chocolate. Much better, he surmised. It was a fun combination. Another little wave of nostalgia hit over a memory that had regrettably turned to mush. _

_ “I like this one better,” he said with a smile. Still, he set it aside. He found he wasn’t terribly in the mood for chocolate, and he figured the combination of the ones he’d tried would be better to leave for Reinhardt. The flavors complimented each other well. _

_ “Will you be joining us for dinner later tonight?” _

_ “I, uh...I’m not sure. I don’t feel ready to be around everyone just yet. Not that I don’t _ want _ to, because I do, it's just...I’m not making sense, I--” _

_ “You don’t have to explain yourself, my friend. I’ll bring it to you.” _

_ Siebren smiled sheepishly. “Thank you.” He took a second bite of the berry protein bar. “What are you having, by the way?” _

_ “Stew, I believe? Efi offered a family recipe for the entree tonight. She seems very excited to share it.” _

_ “I like stew...or at least I think I do,” Siebren said sardonically. The two men chuckled. “It’s better than clear broth, if anything.” _

_ “You still have your sense of humor, see?” Reinhardt gently clapped him on the back, noting how sharp his vertebrae felt against his palm. Siebren gave him a warm smile, or as warm as he hoped it looked in his scarecrow-like state. Reinhardt began helping himself to the mint chocolate and smiled back. “Would you like to come with me to the gym later?” _

_ “Hm?” _

_ “I know you’re in no condition to exercise, but I just figured we could...continue our conversations.” _

_ Siebren scoffed. “I’m sure I was quite the chatterbox.” _

_ “You’re the only person I’ve ever met to leave me on such a long cliffhanger,” Reinhardt said mid-chew. “I’ll enjoy the company, anyway. Did you exercise before? I’ll give you some tips you can try when you’re at a healthy weight.” _

_ “I did, and that sounds nice. Very nice.” _

_ Reinhardt regarded Siebren with a gaze that suddenly made the room feel a little warmer, though he didn’t make the connection. Still, something within him energized him enough to rise to his feet, clumsily, one foot buckling underneath him, as Reinhardt affectionately touched his knee before getting up to leave. _

_ “Reinhardt!” Siebren called out, as if he were already outside at the end of the hallway. The larger man turned to see Siebren standing to face him, smiling a smile that seemed too wide, arms outstretched in some messianic, almost desperate looking effort to look healthier than he actually was. Reinhardt thought he wanted a hug at first, which he was more than happy to give, but then he saw Siebren’s bed and night-table levitating effortlessly, and he recalled the day when he and Dr. Ziegler noted Siebren’s unconscious attempts to communicate, leaving the room to inform the rest of the squad excitedly before ducking his head back in to find everything in the room, including Siebren’s hospital bed, suspended in the air, completely still as if they belonged there. A miracle. _

_ “I can be your spotter.” _

* * *

_ “SIEBREN, STOP!” _

_ Reinhardt scrambled into Siebren’s lab, drawn by the repetitive thumping noise he’d heard from down the hall. He found the door ajar, papers and stationery items scattered as if someone had progressively lost control of their body, and Siebren slumped over on his knees in a corner, banging his head against the wall with nauseating fervor. The point of impact had smudges of pink as the skin on Siebren’s forehead began opening with each hit. A stifling pool of vomit was splattered a few inches from him, and strings of saliva hung from Siebren’s chin. _

_ “Siebre--SIEBREN PLEASE!!!” The pink turned to a fresh blotch of red and Reinhardt yanked Siebren back from the wall by his collar. His head lolled against his shoulder, eyes fluttering and rolling back in his head, completely consumed by a kind of agony that bore no sound, needed no words, and clearly dwarfed other pain such that it almost seemed a remedy in comparison. Reinhardt had seen Siebren in the throes of a psychic migraine, but nothing like this. A hand twitched, then violently shot up to his face to claw at his eyes. Siebren sputtered in pain, a sudden grimace grotesquely stretching his previously delirious expression that made the muscles in his neck jut out like bridges and his teeth look like shards of glass in his mouth. Reinhardt quickly grabbed Siebren’s wrist only for it to be replaced with the other hand, and adjusted his arm so he’d be cradled in such a way that his arms could not move. He hugged the slight man as tight as he could without trying to hurt him, the brief stutters and squeaks and strained gulps of air he elicited fraying at Reinhardt’s nerves. He looked around for a cloth of some kind to press at the cut on Siebren’s head to no avail, and settled on using the end of Siebren’s long labcoat. As he dabbed away at the blood, Siebren’s head rested limply against his shoulder, looking as if he’d succumbed to the pain, not out of defeat but out of resignation that in this moment there was nothing left. Was there ever? Did he truly live his life without this kind of pain up until now? Reinhardt knew the kind of pain this was. Not to an exact likeness, and not as something that lasted this long for him, but it was the kind of pain that seared and froze at the same time, the kind of pain that made you regret having a body, the kind that made you dread even a second of feeling better, because coming down from the dull, burning agony meant your body was giving itself back the threshold of feeling new pain. _

_ Siebren remained stock still in his arms, save for the occasional twitch of his limbs or eyes to shift in a different direction, of which Reinhardt noticed never worked or lasted because even the thought of moving a muscle would trigger another wave of pain. He would have looked eerily dead if it were not for the short rise and fall of his chest, showing his desperate attempts to not breathe for the very same reason. Helplessly, Reinhardt adjusted the way he held him once again, and began to rock him as gently as he could. The thought of humming a soft song came to mind but he put it aside lest the rumbling of his voice from within agitated Siebren’s pain any further. Reinhardt looked at the vomit in the corner, not being able to make out it's contents. It was more watery than viscous, which Reinhardt attributed to Siebren’s constant tea-drinking. Normally the foul, acidic smell would have made his eyes water but nothing else in the room seemed to affect him as much as the man in his arms, once again trapped in his own body. _

_ Reinhardt lifted a different section of Siebren’s labcoat to wipe the saliva off his chin, and craned his head down slightly to kiss his forehead. _

* * *

_ “My God, this is older than my parents,” Siebren exclaimed when Reinhardt changed the music on his lab speakers. “Clair de Lune. One of my favorites...” He waved a hand smoothly through the air, cuing an invisible orchestra. “Mmm... I can never listen to any of the stuff today. Mindless drivel. No feeling to it.” _

_ Reinhardt giggled. “Don’t you sound pretentious.” _

_ “I am a man of science. It comes with the territory,” Siebren replied with a smirk and his broad nose in the air. He dunked the mop back into the bucket next to him, filled with fragrant purple liquid that smelled of lavender, and plopped it back onto the floor to clean under his desk. His lab was never particularly dirty or disorganized, but Siebren made a point once a week to clean it as if he were relocating the following day. It swayed like an oar in his hands as he mopped to the flow of the music, much like Reinhardt with his hammer when he had too much to drink & he was a little too eager to make everyone laugh. _

_ “ _ Hör auf, mich zu kopieren, alter Mann. _ (Stop copying me, old man) _ ,” he said. “Du behandelst die Dame ohne Gnade, ohne Fürsorge. _ (You handle the lady without grace, without care.)” _

_ “ _ Ze lijkt het niet erg te vinden. _ (She doesn’t seem to mind),” Siebren replied. “ _ En hoe weet je dat ze me niet leidt? _ (And how do you know she’s not leading me?)” _

_ “ _ Weil du ein schrecklicher Tänzer mit zwei linken Füßen bist, der, wenn ich das hinzufügen darf, hochmütig genug ist, um zu denken, dass er es nicht ist. Sieh sie dir an, sie musste sich betrinken, bevor sie sich entschied, mit dir zu tanzen _ . (Because you’re a terrible dancer with two left feet, who, might I add, is haughty enough to think he’s not. Look at her, she had to get drunk before she decided to dance with you) _ , _ ” Reinhardt answered, regarding the wet bundle of hair-like yarn splattered on the floor. Siebren all but cackled. He crouched down slightly to extend the mop further under the desk, and Rein found himself moving before his brain commanded it, even if the wetness of the floor felt excruciatingly irritating seeping into his socks. He was next to Siebren as he assumed his upright position, smiling with his eyes. _

_ “Perhaps...you need a few lessons.” _

_ “Oh yes, I’m sure they’ll go just as smoothly as the ones on Monday. Maybe I’ll bruise an elbow to match my knees and ankle.” Siebren had agreed about a month ago to learn the basics of a few ballroom dances Reinhardt had pulled off the internet; not for the purpose of learning in and of itself, but because while on his feet, Siebren was profoundly clumsy. Even while holding the banisters on a treadmill his feet would buckle, expectedly but still painfully in the moment as they grazed on the serrated conveyor belt. Reinhardt offered these impromptu dance lessons in the hopes that the methodical format would teach Siebren to better control his coordination. And of course, Siebren thought to himself, it was quite nice to be held. _

_ “And if you do, I’ll kiss them better,” Reinhardt replied with a wink. The tenderness of the comment did not go by unnoticed between the two men, hanging between them like static. Still, they smiled warmly at each other, knowing these terms of endearment were commonplace in a friendship that had grown as close as theirs had. The word “friendship” tasted strange on Siebren’s tongue, however, like artificial sweetener. _

_ His feet levitated inches off the floor, such that anyone else would just tell him to stand normally. As Reinhardt took his waist and his hand, Siebren carefully rested the balls of his feet on the top of Rein’s own, positioning them at the same height, and provocatively close to each other. They noticed, and grinned sheepishly as they adjusted their position to give each other their own dance space. _

_ “You’re not going to get anywhere if you use me for training wheels, _ engel _ . On the floor.” _

_ Siebren felt a dip in his belly. “And um, what’s usually the dance of choice for this?” _

_ “Tango, I believe? At least, that’s what I’ve seen on some of the videos I’ve watched. _

_ “Oh, good. Spinning, swiveling...” _

_ “Ah, don’t worry, I’ll be just as bad as you.” _

_ “Oh.” Siebren gave an exaggeratedly reassured expression, making Reinhardt giggle again and flick him on the nose. The two took their time regaining their composure before Reinhardt reached over to the holopad on the table to restart the track. _

_ A step back. Once to the side. Reverse. A swivel. A dip on Siebren’s knees, Reinhardt’s grip tightening to provide extra support, then upright again. The two of them swiveling now, Siebren’s leg crossing over, and Reinhardt turning the both of them on the axel his foot provided. Siebren was thankful for the gentle, pondering nature of the piano during the piece’s intro. It felt as if it were slowed to accommodate him especially. Everything else seemed to slow around him, as well, and his concern over his clumsiness faded in favor of the way the chords ribboned around them. _

_ Siebren gulped, his senses suddenly inflamed despite still feeling he were drifting underwater. He seemed to feel every groove on Reinhardt’s hands with his own in it's gentle grasp. He breathed in his fading cologne and aftershave mixing with his natural scent, and felt his mouth run dry the deeper Reinhardt’s gaze seemed to bore into him. It wasn’t even intentional either, Siebren thought. This was just how he was. Unconditionally loving. Unflinchingly loyal. Unwaveringly supportive. Siebren felt his heart quicken with sickening immediacy. Somehow, his feet did not betray him, even as he carefully watched Reinhardt’s eyes dart away from his own to regard Siebren’s posture and see if he needed to loosen or tighten his grip. _

_ (hold me) _

_ Something like panic surged within Siebren as the two of them came close enough to graze each other cheek to cheek, and then separated again. The fact that they were dancing seemed to recede as an afterthought, and Siebren swallowed hard again, hoping the desperation of his feelings wasn’t noticeable in his expression, even if he felt it bubbling upward in his body like boiling sugar and out through his eyes, his ears, his nose, his mouth. _

_ (please) _

_ “Stop.” _

_ Reinhardt stopped. Siebren had him locked in a remarkably tight hug, his slighter body racked with shaky breaths, his nails only slightly digging through Reinhardt’s t-shirt. _

_ “What is it, Siebren? Are you dizzy?” _

_ (yes) _

_ “Siebren, tell me. What hurts? Tell me. Look at me.” _

_ Siebren felt that if he looked he’d fall apart entirely. He’d hyperventilate or burst into tears or his power would lash out against something in the room to make enough space inside himself to learn to breathe again, and he’d end up scaring him away. _

_ (too late) _

_ Reinhardt cupped Siebren’s face and forced his eyes upon him. Siebren swallowed a sob, wishing his brain would stop analyzing everything the other man did, rationalizing that Reinhardt did not snap his head up out of impatience but to examine his pupils or his pallor or to see if his teeth were chattering, because he was a beautiful, kindhearted man and this is what men like him do. _

_ (no one else) _

_ He shook his head out of Reinhardt’s hands and buried it in his chest, reaching for his massive arms and wrapping them around him. _

_ “Hold me.” _

_ “Of course.” _

_ The music continued. Siebren didn’t hear it. Only Reinhardt’s heartbeat thumping against his cheek. And the thunderous bass of his voice; not violent, but like the heartbeat of the world during a thunderstorm. _

_ “Siebren.” _

_ He looked up, hunger razing through him like nothing he’d ever felt before. He was an old man. He knew what he wanted, even if he never allowed himself to feel it to such a degree until now. He only hoped Reinhardt felt the same. The sunset years when nothing else mattered, and everything mattered. _

_ (fill me) _

_ Siebren only felt Reinhardt’s lips on his, not the time it took for his own to get there, not the time it took to crane his head upward. They were soft, and began to moisten, and he felt Reinhardt shiver. His nails dragged down Reinhardt’s back, grasping the cloth of his shirt in his fists. Siebren felt he was partially outside of his own body at the same time. He began to stand on his toes, and then float. _

_ The momentum broke their kiss with a provocative *smack*, and soon Siebren was looking down at Reinhardt, suspended in the air by his own love, their noses less than an inch from each other. It wasn’t until the warmth of Reinhardt’s gaze deepened to one only exchanged by lovers who’d known each other across time, beyond time, through thick and thin, that Siebren felt tears well up in his eyes. Reinhardt softly stroked his cheek. _

_ “ _ Engel _ ,” he whispered. _

_ Siebren blinked slowly and let the tears fall. _

_ “ _ Ik weet het niet meer _ . (I can’t remember),” he said. Reinhardt knew what he meant. Siebren sniffled loudly, swallowing and still trying to look dignified. “ _ Geef me een nieuw geheugen _ . (Give me a new memory.)” _

_ Reinhardt’s eyes on him felt like flames licking his body. Siebren’s throat tightened painfully. Reinhardt captured his lips once again. Siebren’s arms and legs wrapped around him tightly. He found he was, in fact, starving. _

* * *

Reinhardt watched his love sleep. He almost never snored, and, much to Rein’s amusement, looked focused even when dreaming. Reinhardt wondered if his dreams were pleasant. He hoped so. He’d give him every peaceful dream within his own mind if he could. He’d endure a lifetime of nightmares to free Siebren from even one, though it would stir a heated argument about the profundity of suffering and how the amount should at least be balanced between the two of them. Reinhardt laughed quietly to himself, his head resting on his elbow, attuning himself to Siebren’s soft breathing in the ethereal silence of the room. He edged himself a bit closer to study him further, to drink in how beautiful he was, and how lucky he felt.

Siebren’s face, heart-shaped and fiercely angular, was lightly dusted with a constellation of freckles, a few of which were only visible up close and added impeccable charm to what could be misconstrued as a countenance of hard, unyielding judgement. His eyes, cradled in the ever endearing creases underneath and around, remained large even after he returned to a normal body weight, the same color and luster of crystal, framed by his dark, bold eyebrows, whose length and thickness made his face appear larger and more imposing than it actually was. Ironically, if anyone were to give him just a passing glance, they'd see who he truly was: a kindly, often cranky, old man with unmistakable grandfatherly charm. Reinhardt raised his hand to ghost a finger down Siebren’s nose, and felt a tickle of electricity flower in his belly. He found his nose to undoubtedly be the strongest, most magnetic element of his face. Reinhardt never considered himself to be a swooning man, but he felt something quite like it the first time he regarded Siebren’s face with his undivided attention, a hot hook in his stomach that he was sure left his face beet red and sweltering. Reinhardt inched closer to kiss the bridge before carefully rising from the bed to prepare Siebren a cup of tea, taking water from his mini-fridge and perusing his cabinets for the telltale magenta of his beloved box of raspberry oolong. 

Rein recommended Siebren get a self-heating kettle a long time ago, to rid the possible hazards of having gas burners in the first place, but Siebren refused, saying the whistle and the smell of the gas brought back pleasant memories, even if he couldn’t put a face to them. He acquiesced under the condition that he got to buy the kettle, and Siebren only agreed if he was allowed to accompany him. Rein grinned, the man’s stubbornness endearingly fitting his “perturbed professor” demeanor, and for all his haughtiness, Rein felt divinely privileged to know it was a mere front. Siebren’s dedication to his academia expressed itself in painfully terrible puns and enigmatic laughter at mathematical revelations only he could understand, his near-godlike psionic power manifesting not in megalomaniacal delusion or self-importance, but poignant reverence for the cosmos that made even Reinhardt feel the stars were watching over him. He certainly felt that way when he looked at him.

Reinhardt set the burner to a low flame in order to prevent the kettle from whistling loudly, and went back to resume his position next to Siebren. _ Siebren, Siebren, Siebren, _ he thought to himself as he lay back down, tracing the contour of his partner’s body like he did his nose. His heart felt as if it were buoyed by cotton candy, and he let the side of his head loll into the pillow. _ Lovestruck _ , he thought. _ I am no better than a lovestruck teenager _. He leaned forward to brush his lips against Siebren’s forehead, the skin there baby-soft, smelling clean and warm. Any worries he had about disrupting Siebren’s sleep were quickly being muddled by the hot, syrupy glee of being in love that he all but felt seeping through his pores. He felt if he’d lost his last dregs of self restraint he’d spread-eagle himself on the bed and bellow to the heavens how much he loved Siebren, how over time “love” ceased to be a significant enough word to describe it, how it made him want to weep and rejoice and throw up and double over laughing all at the same time, how the sensation of their skin against each other made him feel as if he were transcending his body, his mind, his soul, until nothing was left but the two of them, and everything that made Siebren Siebren, and that was enough. It was more than enough. It was all that there was.

Reinhardt took the hand near Siebren’s face and gently interlocked their fingers, noticing how his cool, smooth palm contradicted the way the back of his hand looked; bony, almost diamond-like in shape, with veins zigzagging under his skin like highways. Rein brought the hand closer to his mouth, giving it a light kiss before letting it rest against the covers again and tracing the veins absentmindedly. The kettle had barely begun to whistle, more like a soft breath, and Rein took it as his cue to curb himself from toying with the man’s rest, plodding over to pour the water out over the fragrant, fruity tea blend he’d grown to associate with his love. He added three heaping spoonfuls of sugar and prepared to bring it over to the nightstand, before forgetting to make the distinction between porcelain and the insulated disposable coffee cups he was so used to. He cursed as his fingertips singed and the cup itself began to tumble over. Panic seized him suddenly and painfully, until he saw the mug and its contents levitating bizarrely in the air, as if time had stopped. Reinhardt looked up in shock and saw a bleary-eyed Siebren with his hand outstretched, a slightly tight wave of pressure radiating from the almost imminent mess. 

“Thank you, dear.”

“_Verzeiht mir. Ich wollte kein Chaos verursachen. _ (Forgive me. I didn’t mean to make a mess.) _ ” _

“_Dat deed je niet! _(You didn’t!) You’re lucky I woke up in time, though,” he said with a smile as he motioned for the liquid to return to its place, and the cup back on the counter. He sat on the edge of the bed and stretched enough to crack a few bones before gliding over to his bathroom. Reinhardt heard a cup filling with water from the sink, then three large gulps, and the unswiveling of a plastic cap before an absurdly harsh gargling sound that made him snort. 

“_Ik denk dat ik de kus van een knappe prins voelde._(I think I felt the kiss of a handsome prince.)”

Reinhardt blushed. “I’m sorry. I don't know how to be gentle.”

“We both know that's not true,” Siebren purred as he sauntered back over to his spot on the bed, and held out his arms like once before, a slight neediness to his expression that stirred warmth in Reinhardt’s abdomen. He carried the mug over carefully on a saucer before sitting on the edge of the bed next to Siebren to gather him up for another deep kiss, taking his time to move from his cheek to his jawbone to his neck. Siebren let out a soft sigh, fanning the flame within Reinhardt. 

“_Misschien moet je eraan herinnerd worden. _(Maybe you need reminding.)”

“_Vielleicht tue ich das._(Maybe I do),” he rumbled.

Siebren brought Reinhardt’s face up to his. He reminded Rein of a cat; lying comfortably back into the pillows, giving him not what Rein would define as a strictly sultry look, but a look that mixed both his emotional and biblical knowledge of him. There wasn’t a hint of snideness in his eyes, only amusement that perfectly complimented his visible passion, and the trademark studiousness that Rein found overwhelmingly sensuous. Siebren brought him in for another indulgent kiss, not closing his eyes at first to place himself in the moment, and then feeling them roll back in his eyelids as Rein’s taste and smell flooded his senses. Siebren shifted his head and found Rein’s tongue, unable to quell a juvenile giggle in his throat at the soft warmth. Without parting, Rein took the opportunity to crawl over him, and Siebren the opportunity to wriggle himself beneath. He hooked a leg around Rein’s lower body and employed minor use of his powers to flip him over onto his back, biting Rein’s lower lip enough to pull at it a bit, before sitting back onto his pelvis to admire his work.

“Look at you,” Reinhardt breathed incredulously, tracing Siebren’s delightfully form-fitting turtleneck down to his hem before letting his palms rest comfortably on his thighs. Again, Siebren looked positively feline-like, as if someone had scratched under his chin. Rein watched as he began to lean down for another kiss, his mouth instinctively watering in return, before he felt a slender finger against his lips and Siebren’s gaze fixed on him, still playful but fully aware of how jubilantly he was toying with the larger man. The mug on the nightstand floated to his casually extended hand, almost as if buoyed by fairytale magic, and Siebren resumed his upright position, cradling the mug to his lips for a sip.

“Perfect temperature.”

Rein all but guffawed. “_Was für ein Scherz. _ (What a tease). You're ridiculous.”

Siebren shrugged coyly before taking a second sip. “Mm. You remembered to kill the flame right before boiling. I can tell.” Another, with a small distasteful noise and a grimace. "Should have waited until afterwards for the mouthwash, though."

Rein snickered, pillowing his head with his forearm and watching Siebren finish his tea.

“I love you.”

Siebren lowered the cup and smiled. He let it float back to the night-table before cradling Rein’s face and kissing his forehead so tenderly Rein felt he was being anointed.

“I love **you**,” he replied, their foreheads touching, and their gazes intimately close. Rein suddenly decided to sit up straight, crossing his legs underneath him to support Siebren. He linked his arms around his lower back, and looked at him as if the sun rose and set in his eyes. Siebren’s were gently clasped behind Rein’s neck as he waited for whatever he was about to do or say, suddenly feeling like a young man again.

“_Du seltsamer kleiner Mann. _ (You odd little man),” Reinhardt finally said.

Siebren smiled bashfully. “_Wat heb ik gedaan? _(What have I done?)”

Rein shook his head as if the answer were obvious, or as if there was no answer. He looked like the happiest man in the world and Siebren immediately felt all the mischief from before spill out of him, replaced with the weight of sudden vulnerability and aching need that took every ounce of effort to swallow back.

“_Du bist ein seltsamer kleiner Mann. _ (You are an odd little man),” Rein continued. “_Alles an dir. Du bist seltsam, und du bist schön, und du bist mein, und ich liebe dich. _ (Everything about you. You are strange, and you are beautiful, and you are mine, and I love you) _ .” _ He stroked Siebren’s cheek before cradling his face in his hands once again. “_Mein Stern, mein Engel, mein Wunder. _ (My star, my angel, my miracle)," he whispered, punctuating each term with untargeted kisses; the middle of his cheek, the corner of his mouth, the angle of his jawbone. “_Du bist einen langen Weg gegangen, um mich zu finden _ . (You've come a long way to find me.).” 

Siebren let his arms slip around Rein’s torso in a firm, tender hug, burying his face in his neck so as to hide his tears. He smelled so good, and he was so strong, and so, so loving, so much so that he wondered if the universe truly did ordain specific pairs of people to be together. A silly thought, yes, preposterous and fantastical, but he thought back to his escape from Talon. The earthquake. Moira’s bones cracking and healing and regrowing almost all at the same time to try and adapt to the magnitude of Siebren’s power, her hair growing out long and stringy and too fast to darken itself to her natural color, the veins beneath the skin of her eyes bursting as his own had, leaving bruises and reddening their already damaged and unnaturally bulbous eyes like peeled fruit. Her clawed hand outstretched to claim his own, and his quickly emaciating hand reaching for her innards. The brutal, suffocating pressure of their powers clashing that would have instantaneously burst the heads of anyone within the vicinity, had Reaper and Sombra not teleported whoever was left from under the rubble of what used to be Talon Headquarters to safety. Only the ugly things remained in Siebren’s mind; the pain of the struggle, the thrill and excitement of standing up to her, the unnatural roars echoing from their throats as they forced their bodies to evolve. But Siebren also remembered the split second before he escaped, even if it wasn’t intentional. A sudden rip in space-time pried itself open for him, and he fell. And fell. Visually, he retained no memory of the portal itself. It was so disturbingly dreamlike. In his mind, he saw a child turn to face him, an eyeless child whose empty sockets sent a nauseating wave of revulsion through Siebren, but also a wave of empathy. He wanted to tell the boy something. Factual? Reassuring? Inquisitive? He could not say. But when he tried, he felt his throat contort from the inside as he suddenly regurgitated something. He looked down at his palm and saw two eyes, too gray to be blue, but saturated enough to not strictly be gray. Dutifully, he extended his hand, and the boy took them.

The last of his memories were blinded by the sunlight as the portal dropped him in the middle of nowhere, his corpse-like body leaving a crater in the earth like the impact of a nuclear bomb. From then on, his mind began to recede, though he knew now that the formless shadows were in fact the crew of Overwatch coming to save him after being alerted by the second smaller earthquake his body triggered as it landed. The large figure gingerly picking up his body had to have been Reinhardt, the warm, gold-blue light surrounding him Baptiste’s immortality beacon mixed with Angelo’s Caduceus staff. He did retain a subconscious memory of what it was like to drown; the pain of your chest collapsing on itself and your eyes trying to pop out of your skull, anything to let even a bit of air in. Something in him had cracked, or cracked back to normal, and a dry, guttural gasp tore from his throat; Siebren de Kuiper’s body screamed to the cosmos that he wanted to live.

Siebren thought back to the melody. He didn’t hear it as often anymore unless he employed further use of his powers than what he normally needed, and when sporadic migraines hit. He’d never told anyone but to describe it as a melody greatly diminished what he actually heard and felt when it came over him. It was tuneless, chordless, something that could never be replicated through instruments, something that could never be properly described with language. Siebren was not a religious man, but he remembered consistent descriptions of heavenly bodies ringing with endless, uncontrollable sound, ascribed to a myriad of different human instruments in the same feverish, confounded way the bodies themselves were said to have the heads of lions and men and cattle and dragons all at the same time so that witnesses could make sense of it all. Siebren felt he finally knew what that felt like, and the implications terrified him. He hugged Reinhardt tighter.

Still he thought of the portal. His body’s automatic fight-or-flight response mingling with his power. The clinical explanation satisfied him, but only to a point. He still thought of the irrefutable fact that all life contained bits of the cosmos, no matter how miniscule (or gargantuan, in his case). Every seemingly inanimate force in nature had the ability to bounce back in some way; the flow of wind, the growth of plant life, the spark of flame. Could a force without a face, a force he now shared a body with, communicate with him in such a way that it expressed protectiveness over it's vessel?

Tears continued to well and drop listlessly from his eyes, soaking into Rein’s collar. The existential terror of it all, and his arranged marriage with it, was far too much for his brain to handle. He suddenly felt sharp despair, and wanted to go back to sleep.

“_Waarom zeg je deze dingen over mij? _(Why do you say these things about me?)” he asked. 

“_Denn so fühle ich für dich, und das ist es, was du bist. _ (Because that is how I feel about you, and that is what you are) _ , _ ” Rein whispered. “_Du bist keine Zirkusnummer, kein Experiment oder eine Gefahr. Du bist ein seltsamer kleiner Mann, der seine Mathematik und Wissenschaft und dumme Witze liebt; ein seltsamer kleiner Mann, der leben wollte. Jemand hat dich gehört. _ (You are not a circus act, or an experiment, or a danger. You are a strange little man who loves his math and science and silly jokes; a strange little man who wanted to live. Someone heard you) _ . _” 

Siebren smiled, tearfully moved by his partner’s endearing description of him. He supposed he was a bit silly. “_ IIk hou van mijn woordspelingen. _(I like my puns.)”

“_Tue ich nicht. _ (I don’t),” Reinhardt rumbled. A moment of silence stretched between them before they both burst out laughing. Rein looked at Siebren in his moment of joy, grinning brilliantly and finding more laughter rolling out of him when he thought he’d finished. 

“I lied. I do, really.” He wiped Siebren’s eyes with his thumbs. “_ Ich liebe auch deine Nase. _ (I also love your nose.)”

“I **know** you love my nose,” Siebren tittered as Rein gave it a long, exaggerated kiss as if it were a prize. 

“_Ich habe mich in deine Nase verliebt, bevor ich mich in dich verliebt habe _, (I fell in love with your nose before I fell in love with you,)” Reinhardt purred. Siebren laughed even harder.

“You’re ridiculous. Why, may I ask?”

Rein shrugged. “Well, you’re very...striking. I don’t know how else to explain it. It’s the centerpiece of your face, and such a bold one, too, and--” He stroked Siebren’s nose once again, thinking of what to say. “Well, you’re just...very... pointy.” Siebren snorted.

“You are! It sounds silly, but look at you! Sharp in every way, _ und es ist liebenswert! _ (and it's adorable!)” He began showering his face with kisses. “If I am the hammer, you are the spear.” Siebren dissolved into giggles, trying to keep his head still as Rein proceeded to cover every square inch, feeling he was at the mercy of a very large, very happy dog. “Ooh, I must be careful not to cut myself on your cheekbones.”

Siebren gave a playful roar and pushed Reinhardt back into the pillows, returning the favor with his own onslaught of affection. He found, however, that his tenderness overwhelmed his playfulness, and slowed down almost as quickly as he started.

“Tell me you love me again,” he asked gently, his face buried in Rein’s neck.

“I love you again.”

“_Stomme. _ (Stupid.)”

“Okay, okay, I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“Again, again, again.”

“_Ich liebe dich so sehr, mein Liebling, ich glaube, ich könnte platzen. _ (I love you so much, my darling, I think I could burst.)”

Siebren exhaled, but it brought no relief. He felt lightheaded, shaky, as if the world were moving too fast and too slow at the same time. He thought of dessert. He hated sweets for this precise reason. He felt as if he’d swallowed enough cotton candy to make himself vomit, but it refused to digest, swelling and swelling until it filled his lungs and throat, weaving its way into his bloodstream before finally melting. So much of it, his chest almost hurt. He instinctively reached up to claw at it, then shifted his hand against Rein’s chest to divert his attention, just in case. _ Just in case he wanted to help _ , he thought, _ because he is a beautiful, kindhearted man, and this is what men like him do _ . Siebren swallowed, and found he could breathe again. _ Love. This is love, _ a voice in his head told him, one who’s tone he didn’t recognize as his own. _ Haven’t heard that one before. _He almost laughed to himself. The voice felt surprisingly encouraging, seeming to reach forward through all the fluff and fairy dust to help him find his own.

“Oh, I love you,” he sighed. He felt one of Reinhardt’s large fingers trace down his back. _ I love you, and I deserve to love you. I never thought it could happen, but it has happened and it's happening and I deserve it. I deserve what I want and I want what I deserve. _ Siebren’s eyes were closed long enough to see stars, and he smiled. _ Thank you, my friends. _He moved his lips against Reinhardt’s neck for a kiss, then closed them around the soft skin and sucked.

“_Liebe!_” Reinhardt half-laughed, half-gasped at the sudden sensation. Siebren smiled. _ This is what love is like, _ he thought. _ To nourish one another, to indulge, to feed and be fed, to restore, rejuvenate, to live. Live. I want to live. _

Siebren sat up straight, his fingers moving along the hem of his turtleneck and lifting it smoothly up over his head. Reinhardt’s earnest, adoring gaze returned, the gaze of worship and wonder that, for just a few moments, convinced Siebren that he might be a miracle. _ I am made of stardust. _He felt his own warm smile melt over his face, letting his palms rest on Reinhardt’s broad chest.

“Then burst.”


End file.
